


Permission to Mope

by ecroeuf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: After episode 12, Bad Luck, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, theyre living in st petersburg at this time btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9652889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecroeuf/pseuds/ecroeuf
Summary: Yuuri's having one of those days where you just can't ask "what else could go wrong?" because you know damn well the universe is going to answer by throwing another obstacle. And it's going to hit you square in the face. And you'll lose your balance. And you'll fall off of a cliff. And going to the dog park just won't help, no matter how much your boyfriend insists that it will...(Inspired by a writing prompt, in which you write a story composed of these three things: a pair of glasses held together by tape, a mission phone, and a small, mean dog)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is based off of a prompt by [ sparkingstoryinspiration](http://sparkingstoryinspiration.tumblr.com/) on tumblr in which you write a story composed of three things: a pair of glasses held together by tape, a mission phone, and a small, mean dog. I had a lot of fun with it, though it was very tricky!

"Can you hear anything?"

"No."

"Well…stop talking. Maybe you will."

"I'm trying, Yuuri, but you just asked me if I could hear anything."

"Oh, right…sorry." Yuuri ducks his head, straining to hear _something_ , anything. Viktor had Yuuri's number pulled up, and they were trying to see if they could hear it ringing. Or, well, vibrating – since Yuuri always kept it on silent. _Like an idiot._

It was Yuuri's own fault, honestly. He was too tired after training yesterday to make sure that he took his phone with him from the rink. He'd figured he had put it in his skate bag, like he usually does. He was so weary from sleep that he passed out the minute his head hit the pillow, forgetting to take off his glasses in the process.

The result of that ended with Yuuri rolling over, a deafening _snap_ , and a sharp stabbing pain on his side.

" _What the…?" Yuuri jumps back in surprise. When his sleep-fogged brain finally makes sense of what happened, he sucks in a sharp breath, "Oh no!"_

" _What's-uh...?" Viktor props himself up on his elbow to look over, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hooded eyes widen when he sees the glasses, completely snapped in half, "Oh!"_

_Yuuri's fingers are shaking as he holds the broken glasses, gripping them with a feather light touch, as if they would turn to dust in his hands. Gently, Viktor reaches over to take them and inspects the damage with careful fingers._

_He sets the broken pair aside on his pillow, and reaches to brush Yuuri's hair back, "Wait right here, I think I have some tape." Yuuri can only manage to nod as the Russian man springs from the bed, quick as a fox but with the elegance of a cat._

Safe to say, today was shaping to be a pretty awful day.

And it wasn't even eight am.

They'd spent a good part of the morning taping his glasses together. They sit awkwardly on the bridge of his nose, and he knows if he wears them too long he'll get a headache, but its better than the headache he'll get if he doesn't wear them at all. After they'd gotten semi-decent results from the tape job, Viktor set out to make them some coffee while Yuuri went to get his phone, hopeful that scrolling social media would take his mind off his broken glasses.

And that's when he couldn't find his phone.

Now they were tearing through the apartment, trying to find it. After the last ring-through ends, Viktor tries again. Yuuri notices the picture on the screen is a pleasant one – it's the moment after he finished in free skate at the Grand Prix. Viktor has his arm around a disheveled but proud Yuuri, as they sit on the bench in the kiss and cry. It was the moment after he'd heard he'd broken Viktor's record. It would been a nice sentiment to see how Viktor had that moment displayed on his phone, had Yuuri not had more pressing matters to think about.

"I hate to say it, Yuuri, but I think we'd better get going if we want to make it to the rink in time." Viktor frowns, taps his screen to end the call. Yuuri's heart sinks, but he nods.

If he were being honest, he'd want to spend another 20 minutes looking. His worst case scenario was going to the rink without it; the thought that its still missing dwelling on his mind as he trains. He didn't need his phone; he never used it while he was practicing. He knew Viktor would be more than happy to let him use his, should he need to call anyone. But the thing was international calls were expensive and, really, it was just the principal of the thing. The fact that it was missing, and it was all because of his carelessness, was a nagging thought. Add onto that his glasses, and, well…

"Yeah, okay, you're right." Yuuri sighs, reaching over to fix the skewed cushions on the couch and replace the throw pillows that had been knocked to the floor in his search.

"Maybe it's at the rink?" Viktor offers. His smile way too optimistic for the circumstances, but Yuuri rolls with it for his sake, and returns a shaky one of his own.

"Yeah," he responds, "maybe…"

* * *

 

"Yuuri," Mila gasps when they enter the joint locker room, "what happened to your glasses?" Beside her, Georgi looks up at the statement, before turning his attention back to his phone. Though its not intentional, it feels mocking.

"I slept on them by accident." Yuuri's face warms. It's even more embarrassing saying it out loud. He rummages through his bag to grab his skates. He also does a quick re-check, thinking since they're in a new place, maybe his cell phone will magically appear in his bag, where it had been all along.

No such luck.

"Hey, Yakov's going to have an aneurism if we're not out there in 5 minutes," Yurio marches in, and though his statement sounds like a warning, he shrugs like he could care less. He pauses, however, when he catches Yuuri's face. He barks out a laugh, "What the fuck is up with your glasses?"

Mila fills Yurio in on the morning glasses disaster, and his snickering increases. Yuuri doesn't respond, just lowers himself onto the thin carpet to start stretching out for practice. His right hand hooks the arch of his foot as he dips towards his knee, and Viktor takes the moment to ask if anyone had seen Yuuri's phone since yesterday.

"Oh no, did you lose it?" Mila says as she finishes tying up one of her skates, her expression sympathetic. Yuuri gives a small nod, before switching his stretch to the other leg.

"Wow, sounds like you're having some pretty shit luck today, Pork Cutlet Bowl," Yurio interjects, rising to his feet and pulling his arms high above his head in a lazy stretch.

"I'll say," Yuuri mumbles under his breath, pulling his legs together and bending forward until his forehead touches his knees. He tries to breathe into the stretch, clear his head and focus on pressing a little lower, reaching a little further. Aside from working on step sequences, he'd always liked this part of practice. It felt good to stretch his muscles like elastic, feel them warm up and elongate. But all he can think of is how stupid his glasses look and where the hell he must have put his cell phone.

He feels a firm hand on the space between his shoulder blades, and he doesn't need to pull up to know that it's Viktor. He turns his head to look at his coach, who's sprawled out next to him, legs apart as he leans forward. Viktor smiles and Yuuri breathes out, happy for the minute distraction.

"Ready to go?" He asks softly after everyone else had cleared out, and Yuuri nods, when instead he'd like nothing more than to sit here and stretch until he can't think and his limbs feel like jelly. "Well. Don't seem _too_ enthusiastic," Viktor jokes and Yuuri lets out a surprised laugh.

"Sorry. The way my day is going, I'll probably end up leaving here with a sprained ankle." He sighs, sitting up to roll out his shoulders, "Or with a skate blade stuck in my forehead."

"Mm," Viktor gets up, reaches a hand out to help Yuuri to his feet, " _or_ you'll get hit by a Zamboni."

"The whole rink will melt right under my feet," Yuuri takes his hand, pushes himself up, "one second I'm gliding, the next, _woosh!_ "

"One big puddle," Viktor nods in agreement, and Yuuri smiles. He flings an arm around Yuuri's shoulders, pulls him towards the direction of the rink, _"Doomsday, thy name Yuuri Katsuki."_

* * *

 

The rink, thankfully, managed to stay frozen.

Practice wasn't too bad, in all actuality. Long, and brutal, but not bad.

He was just distracted, and because of it his jumps suffered. Thankfully, Viktor knew why he was off, so he didn't say much. Didn't probe like he usually does when Yuuri keeps flubbing his quads. He _did_ make him re-run the program a few times over - start from scratch whenever his hand would touch the ice, or he'd teeter off balance. It was probably a tactic to keep Yuuri thinking; focus him elsewhere than the broken glasses that sit on the wall around the rink or the MIA cell phone. It worked for a little while, at least.

Yuuri practically grimaces as he skates off the rink after practice ends and picks up his glasses. Viktor catches the look and puts a hands on his shoulder, "Let's see if we can find somewhere to replace those, yeah?"

"Yeah, good idea," Yuuri affirms but as they turn to leave, a shout pulls their attention back to the ice.

"Hope your luck improves, Piggy," Yurio calls from across the rink, his back against the barrier, elbows propping himself up lazily. Yuuri smiles and offers a wave in acknowledgement. Yurio can be sweet when he wants to be. "And I hope your shitty quads improve, too."

_Well, in his own way._

Yuuri sighs, "Thanks. I wish the same for your footwork."

"Fuck off!"

"Bye, Yurio!"

* * *

 

Two weeks.

_Two weeks with tape between his eyes._

They're walking back to Viktor's apartment and Yuuri's head feels heavy. After they left the rink, they went and got food and then walked to the nearest store that sold prescription glasses, only to be told that his specific prescription was doable, but they wouldn't be ready for another few weeks.

" _I apologize, but we are pretty backed up." The store clerk says to him in thin English, "I guess everyone decided to break their glasses today!" She jokes, and Yuuri gives a weak smile in response._

_Viktor turns to him, "We could try somewhere else?"_

" _No," Yuuri sighs, "No, I'll wait it out." He was too tired to go anywhere else, only to probably be told the same thing. His glasses still worked they just…looked stupid._

They don't speak on the walk back. Viktor tries to chatter at first, but Yuuri's small responses and general spoiled mood makes him give that up. Yuuri feels guilty for being so moody - Viktor's been nothing but a saint through this whole day after all - but at the same time he's too frustrated to care. He feels like he has a right to wallow in his awful day, damn it. He does, however, reach out to hold Viktor's hand. The Russian man's response is a reassuring squeeze, and Yuuri feels a little bit better.

Makkachin practically takes them out when they swing open the door to Viktor's apartment. Yuuri plunges his hands into his soft fur, the dog happily lapping up the attention, his tail beating against Yuuri's legs.

"I feel bad forgetting to take him to the rink with us today," Viktor sighs, "I was too distracted, and before I knew it we were out the door without him."

Apparently, one of the perks of being Viktor Nikiforov is somehow being able to bring your dog with you anywhere you go. It was something Yuuri still couldn't get over; how they would walk into a coffee shop or a market, dog in tow, and no one would bat an eye. Makkachin has been somewhat of a permanent fixture at the St. Petersburg rink, so no one really noticed that he was there. In any event, he was a good dog who rarely made a fuss, and was just content in being where ever Viktor was.

"I have an idea!" Viktor says suddenly, "It's still early, and we've got a few hours of daylight left. Lets take him to the dog park!"

Makkachin perks up at the words "dog" and "park", his chocolate eyes lighting up and his tail kicking into doggy-overdrive.

"I don't know…"

"Come on, Yuuri," Viktor goads, already making his way to the hook where he hangs Makkachin's leash, "You've been moping all day, and I've been allowing it. But you love taking him to the dog park, and damn it, I think you need some cheering up!"

Yuuri winces but he sighs, "Yeah, okay." He looks at Viktor's triumphant face and offers a tiny smile, "Sorry for being so mopey."

Viktor crosses towards the door, reaching out to put his hands on Yuuri's shoulders, "Hmm. I think you're allowed to mope today, so I forgive you," He drops a kiss on the tip of Yuuri's forehead, before pulling back to give him a cheeky smile, "I, however, won't allow it tomorrow."

"Fair enough," Yuuri allows, reaching back to open the apartment door, "But what if, on the way to the dog park, a sinkhole swallows me up? Can I mope tomorrow then?"

Viktor laughs, "I'll allow it, I suppose. But _only if_ you get mauled by a bear."

"But what about if a dog pees on me?"

"A meteor falls from the sky, on path only towards you."

"Ouch," Yuuri smiles, taking the dog leash from Viktor to hook it up to Makkachin. "It's a hard bargain, but I think I can manage it."

"I always _did_ have the utmost faith in you…"

* * *

 

Sometimes Yuuri wished he had at least half the excitement for life that Makkachin did.

No matter how many times you tossed tennis ball, he was always ready to take off after it. Even more, he was more than happy to bring it back and drop it in your waiting hand for another round. Before you even had time to pull back to toss it, his doggy muscles were tight, his posture ready to run all over again. _Lather, rinse, repeat._ Makkachin could play fetch until he drops, which is why you usually have to moderate with him.

The dog park was only about a block from Viktor's apartment (in fact, it was half the reason why he chose that specific address in the first place) and today it was nearly empty as daylight started to fade. Across the grass, there were a few different breeds running together, sniffing, doing regular dog activities that only really made sense to dogs. Their owners were spread out, keeping one eye on their pets, the other on the setting sun. Close by, two women were sitting on one of the benches provided in the park, one telling a story, while the other listened as she lazily played fetch with her German Shepard. Sometimes their tennis ball and Makkachin's tennis ball would cross paths, and the two dogs would run circles around each other before returning to their owners to start the cycle again.

"What a beautiful dog," Viktor comments on the Shepard. Makkachin runs back, all but shoving his nose in Yuuri's open palm to deliver the ball. "Good tempered, too."

Throwing his arm back, Yuuri lets the ball loose and Makkachin darts after it with as much gusto as if it were the first time he'd thrown it tonight.

"Hey, he looks like a little Makkachin!" Viktor says cheerily as a smaller poodle trots over. Yuuri's heart sinks at the sight; the smaller dog looks _exactly like_ Vicchan.

Not thinking, Yuuri drops to a crouch and offers his hand to the small poodle, "Hey there, buddy." That was, undoubtedly, his first mistake.

Without hesitating, the small dog hoists up its leg and lets loose. _"Ack!"_ Yuuri jumps back, but he's not fast enough, and he almost falls on his ass trying to scramble away from the peeing animal.

Just then, like a spark of lightening, Makkachin is back, teeth barred and barking at the smaller poodle. Quick as ever, Viktor manages to slip his fingers under Makkachin's collar to hold him back, all the while scolding him sharply in Russian. It was an odd quirk that Viktor would slip into his native language when he scolds his dog. Yuuri thought it weirdly endearing. He does the same, after all. When flustered or overwhelmed or taken by surprise, sometimes he has the habit of slipping into Japanese. Language was an odd thing.

The other smaller dog turns his attention back to Yuuri to growl at him again.

"Easy, little guy," Yuuri murmurs, but the dog responds by barking furiously at him.

"Oh man," Viktor's distraught face would have been funny – in fact, this whole situation would have been funny – had they not been currently living it. Makkachin's barks become more demanding, and he struggles against Viktor's grip. The smaller dog turns back to the larger, barring teeth and hackles up.

It was at that moment, that, a tall woman of about 40 approaches, her eyes wide and her arm waving a leash in the air. She's shouting in Russian and Viktor turns to appraise her. She snatches the little dog, hooking a leash around its collar, and speaks rapidly to the two of them. Her posture and her tone tell that she's angry.

Viktor's voice is even, his response to whatever she was saying calm, but Yuuri could see that under the polite façade that he was ticked. There was a tension in his jaw, and his knuckles were white as he held back Makkachin, but he never let it slip into his expression or his tone. The woman appraises him for a moment, narrows her eyes, spits something at him, and then turns to go. Viktor sighs a moment, before reaching into his pocket to fish out Makkachin's leash, hooking the clasp around the metal loop on his collar and lets him go. As if nothing had even happened, Makkachin trots around happily, sniffing at the ground and looking around before snatching his tennis ball. He bumps Viktor's hand, trying to get him to take it so they can start throwing again.

Viktor ignores Makkachin's insistence to place and grumbles something Yuuri can't hear towards the woman's retreating back before turning his gaze to Yuuri's ruined pant leg, "Oh no, Yuuri!"

"He had good aim," Yuuri sighs, "Do you know what this means, Viktor?"

"No…what?"

"I'm allowed to mope tomorrow."

* * *

It's probably 11pm that night when Viktor shakes him awake. After the dog park fiasco, Yuuri did nothing more but climb into the shower and slip into bed. He was planning on trying to hunt down his phone again after they came back from the park, but after being peed on by the aggressive ghost of his dead dog, he wanted nothing more than to sleep everything off. Viktor had been in the living room for a few hours, probably tidying everything up after they'd left the apartment in disarray this morning.

"Yuuri!" Viktor whispers, "Hey, reach into my coat pocket!"

" _Whuh-?"_

"Reach in!"

Yuuri blinks at him a moment, before pulling the sheets up over his head, "Tomorrow, Viktor, I'm not really in the mood," Yuuri sighs. Viktor, apparently, isn't having it because he snatches his hand from under the sheets and tugs it towards him. _"Hey!"_

"Oh, hush, just do it!"

Yuuri's finger fish through the pocket before they brush against something hard and rectangular. His heart jumps to his throat as he pulls his phone out of Viktor's jacket pocket. He fumbles in putting his glasses on, and taps the home button. The screen lights up, displaying a battery at 9% and 14 missed messages.

_It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen._

Looking up, he catches Viktor's beaming face and his heart skips a beat, "How did you find it?"

"I forgot that I put your phone in my pocket after training last night," Viktor smiles apologetically, "I'm sorry Yuuri, it had completely slipped my mind. I went to go put the jacket I wore to the dog park in the closet, when I saw this one hanging there and remembered."

Yuuri blinks at him, before setting his phone aside to reach out and pull him into a hug, "Thank you for finding it."

Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri, resting his nose in the crook between his shoulder and neck. His breath is warm on Yuuri's skin, and everything glows because its just _one good thing_ right now, and that's what he needed after a day like today.

"I still get to mope tomorrow, though."

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on tumblr! [ nearlyer](http://nearlyer.tumblr.com/)


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